Now whether that joy in his return was for him, personally or for him abstractly, he could not tell; whether she was glad that he had come back simply because he was a human being who would relieve her loneliness or whether she rejoiced to see him individually, was a matter not yet to be determined. He hoped the latter, he believed the former. At any rate he caught and held her outstretched hand in the warm clasp of both his own. Burning words of greeting rushed to his lips torrentially, what he said, however, was quite commonplace; as is so often the case, thought and outward speech did not correspond. "It's too cold for you out here, you must go into the house at once," he declared masterfully and she obeyed with unwonted meekness. The sun had set and the night air had grown suddenly chill. Still holding her hand they started toward the cabin a few rods away. Her wounded foot was of little support to her and the excitement had unnerved her; in spite of his hand she swayed; without a thought he caught her about the waist and half lifted, half led her to the door. It seemed as natural as it was inevitable for him to assist her in this way and in her weakness and bewilderment she suffered it without comment or resistance. Indeed there was such strength and power in his arm, she was so secure there, that she liked it. As for him his pulses were bounding at the contact; but for that matter even to look at her quickened his heart beat. Entering the main room he led her gently to one of the chairs near the table and immediately thereafter lighted the fire which he had taken the precaution to lay before his departure. It had been dark in the cabin, but the fire soon filled it with glorious light. She watched him at his task and as he rose from the hearth questioned him. "Now tell me," she began, "you found--" "First your supper, and then the story," he answered, turning toward the door of the other room. "No," pleaded the girl, "can't you see that nothing is of any importance to me but the story? Did you find the camp?" "I found the place where it had been." "Where it had been!" "There wasn't a single vestige of it left. That whole pocket, I knew it well, had been swept clean by the flood." "But Kirkby, and Mrs. Maitland and--" "They weren't there." "Did you search for them?" "Certainly." "But they can't have been drowned," she exclaimed piteously. "Of course not," he began reassuringly. "Kirkby is a veteran of these mountains and--" "But do you know him?" queried the girl in great surprise. "I did once," said the man, flushing darkly at his admission. "I haven't seen him for five years." So that was the measure of his isolation, thought the woman, keen for the slightest evidence as to her companion's history, of which, by the way, he meant to tell her nothing. "Well?" she asked, breaking the pause.